


The darkest fairytale

by aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm



Category: Fallocaust Series - Quil Carter
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Forbidden Love, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm/pseuds/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm
Summary: And it’s for the sake of this man that I see, the sweet man who loves me beyond boundaries, the man who was never given a chance, the man who will die, who will be irremediably destroyed if he realizes that I can’t stay with him- it’s because of him that I choose to do it.------------------------------A look into Killian's mind after he tells Reaver to leave the lab without him.





	The darkest fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to a fic I also like to call 'this is the result of my saltiness regarding a certain asshole named Reaver and his assholish ways in The Suicide King Vol.1'. Oh boy, did that book leave me with enough amounts of salt to rival the ocean's. And to even think that my first Fallocaust fanfic was going to be a Killeaver one-shot. Now, I'm upset and salty as fuck so, no Reaver, you don't deserve your fucking one shot yet you lil' bitch .l. 
> 
> Title was taken from the song My Salvation by Gabrielle Aplin which I highly recommend listening to while reading, ha, I'm too sappy and corny for these books lol.
> 
> P.S: Quil, if you ever read this by chance, I want you to know that I love/hate you. And thanks for ripping out my heart fibers, I didn't need them anyway.

 

I hold him in my arms. The man who kidnapped me and my boyfriend, the man who beat him and mistreated him, who locked him in a surveillance room only for the pleasure of watching him seeing me self destruct, the man who hurt me and looked me in the eye as if the mere thought of having me suffering under his hand was the best experience in the world -the man whose crazed eyes, bloodthirsty, aching to inspire pain in me, demanded me to bleed for his sake.

I hold that same man in my arms as he completely falls apart. He’s crushing me against his trembling body, strong arms tightening around me each second that goes by. His face is buried on my shoulder; he has curled up on himself a little so he could fit better against my smaller frame. His painful sobs and little cries are being engraved on my neck; I can feel the heat of his breath on my collarbones, even through the material of my shirt.

And it’s maddening, it’s insane, this entire situation, but I can’t help but hold him in my arms as his heart breaks alongside mine.

I see bruises on the back of his neck, purple finger shaped marks where his chimera brother held him against his will so he could have his way with him. The thought makes my stomach shrink in itself and a dozen horrible images to flash in front of my eyes, but no, I can’t afford to think about that now, I can’t let them overwhelm me.

The mix of odors in this room is driving me crazy. Everything in here reeks of blood, even the scientist. Instead of smelling the fruity scent of his shampoo and bath products, I’m hit directly with the smell of blood and sweat and semen. Unconsciously, I tighten my hold on him. My arms squeeze harder and I feel my vision start to blur, my bottom lip to quiver, my heart to drop to my feet and, for a wild moment, I think I actually hear it shatter as if the organ that beats life into me has turned out to be made of glass all along.

Pieces of me are all over the place. Right now, I don’t truly know myself or what I’m supposed to do. All I know is that I want to scream, yell, cry, break, destroy. Do something, anything. There is a sea of emotions fighting a losing battle within me, threatening to drown me in its murky waters if I don’t get a grip on myself.

I don’t have much time.

Slowly, I attempt to pull away from the embrace, just so I can get a look at his face. Perish doesn’t even struggle, his arms loosen a bit, permitting me to move freely.

I cup his face in between my shaky hands, fingers trembling where they touch flesh. His skin is caked with blood underneath my pads but I don’t mind. Any residue can be cleansed later, once it’s all over.

Oh, I’m always conflicted whenever I lay eyes on this handsome face that has caused a myriad of sentiments to awaken inside me.  But not today, not in this instant. Because right here, nothing else that is not me or him matters, and because in this safe space, with only the two of us, I can finally face my conflicts, my demons, my insecurities, and give them a proper name (the name I’ve never allowed myself to pronounce or even conceive in broad daylight, not with dark eyes judging my every move).

Baby blues, a shade much lighter than mine, red rimmed and puffy, stare back at me from a withered face. He looks worn, he looks done. There are shadows under his eyes, coin sized bruises scattered across the expanse of his pale and smooth skin, his thin lips are red and cracked in some areas from the previous abuse, his cheeks are swollen, his nose is red from all the crying he’s been doing and tear tracks continue to make their way down his face. Both beautiful and broken, that is what the mad scientist of Donnely looks like. I can’t begin to express how bizarre and just how simply earth shattering it is for me to see him like this; weak, defeated, vulnerable in ways I never imagined he could be. There is not a sign of the man he was hours ago, days ago, weeks ago.

I begin to trace with my own fingers the features I’ve come to know so well. I draw the shape of his eyebrows, gently. After, the wandering fingers stop at the gap between his eyebrows to touch the place where frown lines would be. Then, they descend to follow the slope of his runny nose, and while I’m at it I wipe some of the snot away with the back of my hand. Perish’s pain filled irises seem torn, trying to decide whether to chase my movements as I caress his many injuries, rub at the space beneath his eye bags, smear a bit of the blood on his cheekbones, or look at my weary expression. I’m careful and attentive not to cause him anymore pain, taking care of not inflicting too much pressure on his wounds. When I reach his lips, I hear him gasp, his mouth opens and I feel his warm breath on my fingertips while they softly touch the part of him that has yearned to meet with my own the most. I remember joining our mouths, I remember the hungry noises he made and how hard he tried to keep it sweet and short for my benefit, despite the underlying current of want I always sensed in him, dying to break through.

“Ki-Killian… What are you-?” He whispers quietly against my fingers. I’m still touching him as he speaks. His pupils are blown inside the mess of negative emotions in his eyes, but I can glimpse the old spark of a certain feeling I’ve tried escaping from ever since day one.

“Shhh, Perry.” I hush him, as if I were speaking to a child. It saddens me to think that in a way, I am.

His breathing is as loud as thunder in the eerie silence that has fallen over us now that we both have stopped wailing.

My hands are on his neck now. They don’t linger, they choose to slip past his nape and down his shoulders, feel the curve of well formed biceps, and knead the toned muscle there. At this, Perry swallows loudly and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with the action. I pay it no mind, choosing to concentrate on my journey along the length of his arms, until I arrive to my final destination: his palms molded to my shoulder blades.

Even in this safe space, in this alternate universe where only Killian and Perish exist, this is as far as I will let my explorations go.  There are limits I can’t cross under any circumstance. And if my hands continue to shake on top of his… Well, there is nobody in here who can blame me.

 My gaze is focused entirely on his visage of dread and confusion. Committing to memory as best as I can the collection of attributes that compose the countenance of Perish. I have a feeling that tells me if I don’t take my time to learn him, learn his face and who he is, then no one else will.

“Touch me,” I say- a little broken, a little beat down-, grabbing him by the wrists and guiding his hands upwards, to my nape. His touch burns me, I feel like a sheet of paper just shy of being thrown to the flames. I can’t decide whether that is good or bad.

Perhaps, I’ve been lying to myself, just a little bit. Perhaps, I’ve always known what to do. The real question, the problem, is how to do it exactly? And… will I be able to do it, when the time comes?

I attempt a smile to encourage him, so he understands that I’m okay with this but I fail; the corners of my lips barely lift and I probably end up giving him the saddest excuse of a smile anyone has ever worn. For some reason, instead of looking disgusted or upset, he stares at me as if I have just given him the world. In spite of the horror he has experienced, the brutality he has recently lived, he is still capable of looking at me like that, like a dehydrated man stumbling upon an oasis.

 No one has to know that I wish I could-give him the world that is. But all I can offer him is this small reprieve. All I have to give are empty promises and an illusion of surrender- where events like him touching me or me touching me cannot be frowned at, where I can hold him in my arms without feeling guilt- that is meant to fade the moment I set foot outside the laboratory. And no one has to know that the fragments of my shattered heart begin to vibrate as my mad scientist’s palms explore my features, mimicking my motions from before, and no one has to know that I melt at the reverence clinging to his touch, that I keel because he touches me as if I’m something precious, as if I’m worthy of devotion. No, the world has no place knowing the air was sucked out of my chest as a result of his phalanges  rubbing my lips with the intent of a man desiring nothing more than to replace those fingers with his own cracked, bleeding mouth; to steal my breath away, to kiss me in ways I have never been kissed before.

He is barely touching me; this is an insignificant contact of skin on skin. Yet I know he wants me, can feel his yearning for me from how his fingers remain over my mouth, wishing to stay there longer. Most of the time, I pretend to not notice, ignoring the shining eyes trailing after me, stalking me wherever I go, asking for things that I cannot possibly share with him. I can’t bring myself to ignore what is happening at present.

Usually, I keep my distance. Hold my stance and composure. I act, I humor him, I do what he tells me to because I have no other choice; I don’t follow his orders because I actually enjoy spending time with him. And if I occasionally do have fun when he’s near me, I certainly don’t enjoy his frequent advances on me.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot when it was that I started lying to myself in order to get through these last few weeks intact.

His thumbs are outlining the shape of my eyes, and he mutters softly, too softly-probably because his vocal chords must be sore from the screaming and sobbing. “Sweety…  You have beautiful eyes. Have I ever told you that?”

“No.” I mouth back at him; my throat has closed up like it has been filled with cement, preventing me from forming words. Fuck, there are tears prickling my eyes, threatening to overflow, and I hate how idiotically emotional I am. I truly, really do.

“They are blue. The prettiest blue I’ve ever seen.” His tone breaks at the end of the sentence, his eyes look bigger and glassier, and I know he is going to start crying again any moment soon.

“Thank you. I… I like your eyes too.” In another universe, there might be another Killian with far more meaningful words to spare. This is just me however, your regular Killian who is too scared and too heartbroken to start acting wise all of a sudden. Not everyone has the talent to speak as if reading a message from a fortune cookie.

His fingers stray to put a strand of hair behind my ear, “Can I kiss you?”

Perish, my anguished chimera, my captor, my friend, my tormentor and my equal, asks me using a tone that indicates that anything I might say to him right now has the power to either fix him or destroy him irreparably. He is giving me the privilege to finish what we started when he found me on that street where we met for the first time.

I don’t even hesitate. The Killian in this room with windows reflecting into a hell of massacre and death caused by a lab abomination is not the same Killian that will walk out of this facility. That is for sure. So I throw all caution to the wind, snake my arms around his neck and push my mouth onto his in a manner that is almost savage. There is a fire within me, like a cigarette burn on the pit of my stomach that pushes me forwards, forwards into Perish’s body, forwards into him. Merge into one, a voice inside me whispers viciously and I-

I want to. Against my better judgment, against all expectations, against common sense, against my strong denials and feelings for the man outside who pulled me out of a world aflame, I can admit in our safe space, Perish’s and mine, that I want him too.

He gasps against my demanding mouth, and his fingers tangle in my golden hair. This is not sweet, this is not pure, this is not soft or slow. This is passion, this is anger, this is pain, ruthless and hungry, full of our hidden and most private of longings as our mouths collide and tongues entwine wildly. The kiss is wet-I can taste Perish’s blood and his mint toothpaste on my taste buds; the implications of that discovery make me want to retch. What I actually do is press myself tighter against him, wanting no kind of division between my chest and his chest. I shiver when a hand runs down my spine to rest on my backside, squeezing my ass possessively. I’m groaning-damn, I think I’m dying-, thanks to his needy whimpers of my name between open mouthed kisses. _Killian, Killian,_ he moans, he worships the letters of my name with his throaty voice, with the lips branding my own, and I unravel here as the ache of him, for him, assaults me throughout our communion.

This is it, Perry. This is my reprieve to you. This is me surrendering at last. This is me giving in to your desires, and to those needs dormant inside of me, the ones I could not acknowledge until now. And I know no remorse, for the Killian kissing Perish is not the Killian who fell in love with a silent watcher in Aras.

(Reaver) will never know the me that sounds so desperate for Perish’t tongue. (Reaver) will never know that I’ve been dying to savor this mouth. (Reaver) will never know how my body responds to Perish’s in a different way, he’ll never know the ways in which this man ignites my soul. (Reaver) will never know that my eyes have lingered before, he won’t ever have to know that every time I kissed the scientist wasn’t only out of duty or  for my boyfriend’s sake (don’t think about him).  (Reaver) will not know that I’ve blushed when this man treats me with care, like I’m fine china, and he can’t permit himself to break me. (Reaver) won’t know about this connection we share, he won’t have a clue of the times we sat and talked and I felt content for a while. (Reaver) will not know how much I cherish those tiny moments of contact, of his hand holding mine, of his lips on my knuckles, of his hand on my cheek, of his arm over my shoulder, or of his hand on my waist. (Reaver) will never be aware of how I instantly knew the first time that my hand fit against his perfectly. (Reaver) won’t have to know that sometimes at night my mind wandered and so did my thoughts, picturing scenarios where it would not be utterly wrong to turn around and quench the loneliness of this sad chimera. (Reaver) will never need to hear me saying that the night I fingered Perish, I imagined going further with him for just a second, imagined him returning the favor and taking that part of me I haven’t lost yet.

And most importantly, he won’t ever know that my navel explodes in tremors when Perish suddenly sucks on my lips and tongue.

We part once the need for oxygen proves too mighty a foe, and I rest my forehead on his. I close my eyes, thinking how utterly bizarre this whole day has been. Here we are, in a torture room, panting on each other’s faces. Him staring through half lidded eyes with so much love in them that I know I have become his entire world, that I’m the only thread holding him together. I don’t know how I must look, I don’t know what emotions are reflected on my ‘pretty’ blue eyes, only that he seems to appreciate it, whatever it is he sees in me, and he pecks me briefly on the cheek. It’s funny to think that a few days ago I would have immediately recoiled from his touch and his lips.

A noise similar to ticking strikes in my mind-it’s a warning, a reminder. I’m running out of time.

“ **I love you** ,” he says abruptly, shattering the silence occupied by our mutual heavy breathing. He is still out of breath, however the rawness in his admission cannot be denied, cannot be taken lightly. He has told me this several times already, but something feels more real this time. Those three words are infused with the remnants of feelings that survived the onslaught of rape, the betrayal of his brother, the annihilation of his creatures and the emotional baggage he has been carrying on his shoulders for far too long. “I love you so much, Killian. You-you’re all I have left.”

May a thunder strike me, may the ceiling fall on top of me, may a bullet insert itself onto my brain if Perish telling me he loves me does not yank at my heartstrings. Every single time he proclaims his love he unfolds me, builds me up from the ground, makes me rise from the ashes of my neurotic state. It’s been many months since the last time anyone has ever told me they love me, not even the man who gave up everything for me has said the words yet, and the chimera doesn’t know, not really, how much his true feelings mean to me. He doesn’t know that I’m bursting at the seams right now with absurd quantities of fondness and warmness and affection for him and I….

I laugh, although it’s more like a chortle combined with a sob rather than a laugh.

Self deprecating and pitiful, I murmur: “ **I love you too** , my Perry. With my entire heart.”

Said organ convulses painfully in my ribcage. A part of me wants to sink a hand inside my cavity and pull my traitorous heart out to just crush the stupid thing once and for all, because I don’t want it to hurt anymore. If a truck broke through the wall and ran over my useless body, I’d bet that would hurt less than this… this insanity.

You see, I’m not lying as I say this. As I answer Perish’s call with the truth of my own emotions. I don’t think I have said anything truer today. My biggest secret, my biggest worry, the biggest threat inside this place was not the mad scientist himself; no, the real dilemma all along was that I’ve been divided, torn apart by the irreconcilable love I posses for two different men.

There, I’ve finally admitted it. It’s simple as that. Complex to understand as that.

This, the first item on my list of things _he’ll_ never have to know that I failed to mention previously: (Reaver) will never know that a big chunk of my heart  and my soul will forever belong to Perish Dekker.

I do love him. I’m _in love_ with him. Despite everything that has happened to us and between us, I managed to fall for him. And that is where the whole conflict stems from, doesn’t it?

But it will end today. I’ll make sure of that.

I will be the one to save him from his madness. From his suffering.

From the corner of my eye, a metallic glint beacons me closer. I will do what needs to be done and I won’t doubt, I won’t overanalyze my actions, I will not stutter or stumble. Taking a deep breath, I put on a mask of security and tell my lost scientist-“Hey, Perry.” It’s hard, having to fake a semi cheery tone for him but it comes out of me naturally. “Could you check on the whipwolf? I want to know if he has eaten all the arians.”

My puppet on strings nods, only moving and existing because I compel him to do so. Fuck, I want to hug him again but that’d be counterproductive. Time is running, I remind myself. He stands on shaky knees. His lab coat is stained with bloody prints, not anymore the pristine white it used to be; it won’t be long before the coat gets even dirtier. He turns his back to me and walks in the direction of the two way mirror, completely unaware that I’m about to betray his trust in inconceivable ways.

As he steps farther away from me, I make a quick grab for (Reaver’s) combat knife. The handle feels heavier than it should be; I guess as a consequence of the meaning this unassuming knife will soon acquire. My reflection glares back at me from the knife’s smooth surface, a boy too young to be a man with big fear plagued eyes, trying his best to assume a stoic visage. Silent tears are cascading down this young boy’s gaunt cheeks and one drop splashes on the weapon’s tip. For how long have I been crying? I brush the tears away and hold the hilt so tightly I can actually feel it rip my palms.

Looking up, I find Perish’s silhouette, his short ebony hair, the firm line of his shoulder blades, the muscles of his back rolling while he moves. Whenever I lay eyes on him I see an incredible variety of facets and stages. I see the different people that make up the identity of this Dekker chimera. I’m not that naïve or dumb as a certain someone would like to believe; when I look at him I can’t help but remember that this man would have left me to die on the empty streets of Donnely had he not been told I would be his boyfriend. He  groped me the first chance he got, he burned the corners of my mouth when I didn’t comply with his commands; he actually enjoyed seeing me squirm  in pain when he took out my geigerchip, he tasted my blood, pushed his fingers inside my wound, and I remember I saw his eyes gleam, delighted because he was in control. He threatened (Reaver), chained him up like an animal, beat him senseless any time he could. I can’t forget this man would have fucked me in a heartbeat if I had not lied to him- he jerked off outside the bathroom’s door to the image of my naked body, and he almost forced himself on me in his bedroom.  And I definitely remember how just minutes ago he attempted to punch me, and prior to that he tortured and murdered the pathetic remains of Jake and Martin-called me a coward when I refused to harm them-, not to mention he released his captive arians only so they could be devoured by his whipwolf.

But… I also see the lonely man who told me all about his family; to this boy he had just met he revealed the truth of his existence,  the story of his abuse and the never-ending need for praise and appreciation, a need the boy himself could understand perfectly. I remember Perish, the man who erupted in rage on my behalf when I lied and said to him I had been raped, because he knew too well, far too well the kind of damage sexual abuse could inflict on one’s psyche. I remember the man who animatedly rambled about science, about his splices, patiently and happily explaining to me the little details of the lifestyle he loved. I remember his eyes sparkling, his hands wringing in excitement when he showed me his plants and the beautiful smile he gave me when I got excited as well. I remember the man whose favorite movie is Jurassic Park, the man who goes to sleep with a stuffed lizard -which I highly suspect might be either a dinosaur or a Pokémon-because he can’t fall asleep otherwise. I remember his voice, mildly subdued, as he promised me I wouldn’t have to act brave anymore, that I wouldn’t have to be a coward as long as I stayed with him in this underground haven. I remember, and I will for the rest of my life, the shell of a man he turned into the moment Nero stepped back into his life, mocking his work, assassinating his creatures, tearing Perish apart both emotionally and physically, leaving him to bleed after I had worked so hard to infuse him with courage and positive emotions. After I had told him that he didn’t deserve to be treated like dirt, there came his brother to ruin the progress he had made in these past few weeks; and there I was, useless, unable to protect him, watching it all go down from my safe spot in the surveillance room, seeing the awful reality of Perish Dekker, the hell that had become his definition of normal, the reason why he was so damaged, the reason why he was so fragile.

And it’s for the sake of this man that I see, the sweet man who loves me beyond boundaries, the man who was never given a chance, the man who will die, who will be irremediably destroyed if he realizes that I can’t stay with him- it’s because of him that I choose to do it. I’m not doing this for revenge, to pay him back for what he’s done, I don’t intend to become another name on the list of people who have caused him endless pain.

 I can’t leave him alone but I can’t stay by his side; the answer to this impasse is solely one.

_Tick tock._

Time has run out.

Perish doesn’t expect it, he doesn’t see me coming. He is too preoccupied with the orgy of limbs, intestines, blood, heads and chewed pink flesh his beast has left in its wake to notice me sneaking up behind him, the knife firmly clasped in my right hand. He is turning around then, to tell me something, I will never know what exactly because I don’t let him speak. If he does, I will falter and there can be no room for slips ups here. Faster than I can process my movements, I’m throwing myself at him, one arm closing around his neck and the other aiming for his artery. The next thing he knows is my knife kissing his flesh but the angle is off, and I end up slicing his chin instead; his blood drips onto my fingers, thick, warm and slippery. I curse inside my head as he starts to struggle. Taking advantage of the momentum, I fling my body onto his back and the two of us topple to the ground with a deafening crash.

The fall winds me up a bit, and I wince, tasting metal and salt on the tip of my tongue. Albeit I don’t let this distract me in favor of stabbing Perish on his side; the knife makes a gorging sound as it enters him, and as I take it out, Perry lets out choking noise that makes a fatal chip on my armor of indifference. I don’t let the knowledge of how much force I had to use in order to pull the knife out of his body get to me. Then I grab him by one shoulder to turn him towards me. Perish faces me now; I only give myself a moment to gaze sorrowfully at those betrayed eyes, a second to hear his rough voice shriek my name-confused, sad, betrayed, bathed in hurt-, another moment to see my tears rain on his roughened face, mixing with the blood flowing from his chin to morph into clear pink rivers of liquid, before I release a shuddered gasp and sink the blade at last on his Adam’s apple, right at the center of his throat.

I straddle his chest; press a knee on the middle of his breast to prevent him from moving around too much while the first, shaky fine line of red appears on his milky skin under the pressure of the combat knife. Damn it all, my hands are shaking, my whole body is fucking shaking and it’s so hard to breathe- breathe Killian, don’t look at his eyes, he’s crying, he must hate you, he is in pain-, do it quick! He’s screaming, he’s begging me to stop, he’s yelling to the top of his lungs, but a sudden ringing in my ears stops me from listening to his pleas. Vomit threatens to bubble up out of my mouth, licks the walls of my pharynx as Perish’s flesh parts, making way for the blade, showing the pinkish underbelly, followed by streams and streams of red. Although the sight is grotesque and it is singlehandedly the most disturbing sight I’ve ever witnessed, I don’t let my horror deter the hand holding the hilt of the tool meant to free Perish once and for all.

Swiftly, his hands mark me, leave an imprint on me, a proof of his influence, the same way I’m projecting the influence I’ve had on him with a knife and the bone that slows my progress. Finally reacting to my actions, they’ve flown to my cheeks to pay me back in pain for what I’m doing to him.

With fingers pulling at his hair and his own mauling my cheekbones, I cut and cut and cut at his neck.

_This is for you. This is for you. Don’t let your thoughts and insecurities ever tell you differently. This is for you, my Perry. I wish to tell you so many things; I wish I had the wits to comfort you, to assure that I’m not doing this because I hate you or because I hold any ill intent for you, you beautiful man. No, I hope you can see into my eyes, into my face in turmoil, look beyond your sadness and appearances, and know from my trembling mouth, my tear filled eyes and reticence in my hands that this is killing me too. That I can’t bear dealing with what I have to do to save you from yourself and this world that only wants to crush you, but I will have to because there is no  real hope for you and me._

_There are no happy endings or second chances, there can never be a realm of possibility where I let you live._

_Maybe, in another world there are other versions of us, and we’re happy. Maybe in these hypothetical worlds I met you first and you protected me from the cruel greywastes, and in return, I loved you until you learned to stand up for yourself. Maybe, eventually, we loved each other sufficiently to fix each other._

_But that is not us, those are not our circumstances. Our reality is the one in which I kill you to rescue you, so I can walk out of here freely and reunite with the man waiting outside. Because Perry, you have to know, the moment I leave your memory to rest here and I go back to the real world, that will also be the moment where I will stop loving you the same way you loved me._

_At least, some sick part of me thinks, this point in time belongs to us exclusively. No one will ever hope to understand, not as well as we do, the bond that unites us right now; with me chopping your neck and you clawing at my face, burying your nails on my cheeks to force me to stop, drawing blood that interlopes with yours and our eyes never departing from each other. There is no way of describing the intimacy of this scene, no words to explain how this is so much more than me killing you and you being killed by me, that the bond between us is more than killer and victim, that in many different ways I’m more of your victim than your murderer. And as I kill you and drain the life out of you, let it be known that I love you so much. I would like to admit that I’ll never be able to love anyone this way, or that I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone enough to kill them; although I have no will left in me to speak coherently,  and all I can do is add my own choir of sobbing, panting and screaming to yours._

What happens next is a blur of blood, more screaming, more crying, more tearing, more of my muscles straining and pulling from the effort, and  more of my grieving noises. Like a mindless drone, I continue to fulfill my mission for what could have been centuries.

By the time I’m done separating his head from his body, his neck is a torn mess of bleeding strands of flesh, with a slight sign of white peeking through the gore, his hands have fallen away from my cheeks, and his light blue eyes stare vacantly at my disconcerted pair.

The combat knife clanks when it meets the floor, splattering his life source near my knees.

His last words: a pained litany of _Killian_.

My last words as I close my eyes, holding his bloody head against my chest:

**_Goodbye. Sleep well, Perry._ **

 

* * *

 

**empathy**

 [em-puh-thee]

 noun

  1. the psychological identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.
  2. the imaginative ascribing to an object, as a natural object or work of art, feelings or attitudes present in oneself: _By means of empathy, a great painting becomes a mirror of the self._



**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this clusterfuck lmao. But let's face it, we all needed a bit of Perish appreciation huehue. Oh, don't forget to comment, even if it's only to say hi lol~~
> 
> Shoutout to my homie Rosa!!! <3 Jajajaja mis feels no me dejaron vivir hasta que terminé este monstruo. Chúpate este fanfic Reaver *evil cackle*.


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